If all goes according to plan, I should be spread-eagled in a sun lounger on a foreign beach as you read this, with a copy of some second-rate espionage novel in one hand and a large and very cold beer in the other. Maybe even nodding to the passing waiter to bring another plate of canapés and a bowl of ready-peeled grapes, or passing the time of day with famous celebrities as they stroll slowly past splashing their feet in the warm clear blue water of the Mediterranean. I mean, we did book a really nice hotel; though - looking now at some photos posted on the Web by previous visitors of the construction site next door to it and the dilapidated street of half-demolished houses round the back - I'm not so sure.
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